[b]Peckham 12:53 PM[/b] Charlie and Bobby sat in the foyer of the Happy Time Massage. Half-naked girls wearing silky shifts and robes came and went, taking men into the back for what promised to be an all inclusive massage. Charlie couldn’t help but laugh at Bobby, staring at his feet and his face as red as a beet. “What’s the matter?” asked Charlie. “I have a girlfriend,” Bobby muttered. “That’s okay,” Charlie said with a chuckle. “Looking isn't cheating.” He winked at one of the women as she walked by. She was a brunette with shoulder length hair that was held up by what looked like chopsticks to Charlie. She wore only a lavender bra and knickers with black heels. “Do you have a girlfriend?” Bobby asked. “No,” Charlie said quickly. The matters of his lovelife was something he never liked to discuss with anyone. There was no way in hell he was going to talk about it to Bobby Bombs in the waiting room of a massage parlor. “I only date whores.” There was a long silence between the two as they watched new men enter looking nervously, while flushed and relaxed men with wet stains on their trousers left. Bobby bummed a smoke off Charlie. “When did that start?” Charlie asked after lighting Bobby’s fag. “Right after Wembley,” said Bobby, expelling smoke. “I just… needed something to take the edge off.” Charlie grunted and ignited his own cigarette. Another long silence enveloped the two men while they smoked. “I never meant to kill her,” Charlie finally said. “She just wouldn’t stop looking at me, Bob. She was trying to remember my face so she could tell the coppers. I had to stop her from looking away.” Bobby nodded. “With what happened to Red last night, I think I can now understand how it doesn’t take much to scramble someone’s brains.” “Good,” said Charlie. “But Coach still hates me and Red has been looking at me sideways since we started this whole bloody thing. They think I’m some psycho killer.” “Well, you’ve been talking nonstop about killing Freddy.” “That’s different,” he said dismissively. “He’s ripped us off, and now we’re behind the bloody eight ball. If it’s down to him or us, then it’s no choice.” “That’s how it starts,” said Bobby. “Convincing yourself that it’s either you or them will take you a long way when it comes to murder.” “He’ll see you now,” the redhead in the kimono said from the doorway. Charlie’s rebuttal to Bobby never came. He rose and walked towards her with Bobby close behind.Charlie watched the redhead’s hips sway as she led them to a back office. “What time you get off?” Charlie asked with a smirk. “My shift ends at eight.” “That’s not what I asked.” “Leave my girls alone, you American bastard.” Sidney Greenstein aka Sid the Yid, was seated behind the cheap desk in the cheap little backroom. Charlie gave her a playful swat on the bottom as he and Bobby went into the office. If this were someone’s first impression of Sid, then they would be shocked to know the little man was one of the gambling kingpins of South London. “Have a seat, Charlie,” Sid said as he lit up a fat cigar. “Who’s your friend?” “I’m Bobby.” “Just Bobby?” Sid asked. “Not Bobby the Polack? I can hear the accent, son.” “I don’t like that word,” Bobby said tightly. “We call him Bobby Bombs,” Charlie said as he sat. “The best damn explosives man in London.” “Well," said Sid. "To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting his acquaintance?” “We need your help, Sid," said Charlie. "You have a reputation for being plugged in.” “When it comes to the underworld, just call me Western Union, my son.” “We need to get rid of some diamonds,” Bobby said. “Lots of them. And quick.” Sid raised an eyebrow and leaned forward in his chair, his eyes glinting behind the thick frames of his glasses. He shifted his cigar to one side of his mouth and spoke out of the other. “What have you boys been up to? I been hearing rumors about you, Charlie. That you’re running with a very efficient mob. Professionals, independent operators. I rode them off since I know your past with Irish Jim. But... maybe those rumors weren’t just bollocks.” “I’ll give you the details after, Sid. Just.. who would we go to?” “Off the top of my head? Isaac Zinkman.” Sid’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he saw the looks on Charlie and Bobby’s faces. Charlie could feel the color in his face quickly draining. “What did I say?... Wait…,” Sid trailed off before his jaw loosened, the cigar spilling out on to the desk. “No. No fucking way. You didn’t.” “Zinkman’s just a jeweler,” said Charlie. Sid picked the cigar from the desk and pointed the stub at Charlie as he spoke. “He is now. I used to work for Zinkman’s boss, boys. Meyer Landsman. You think the Binney Firm are tough geezers, they couldn’t shine the shoes of Landman’s mob. The Jew Crew they called them. Think of the American Mafia, but with more power and less foreskin. Isaac cut his teeth by breaking legs and doing hits. All the capital he used to start the diamond exchange came from Landsman.” Sid looked down at the now extinguished cigar in his hand and tut-tutted at Charlie and Bobby. “You’ve really stepped in it, lads.” “Scale of 1-10 in how bad have we fucked up,” Charlie said softly. Sid leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Scale of 1-10? You’re Hitler invading Russia, lad.” “Fuck,” Bobby yelled. The sharp outburst, combined with the curse word, actually took Charlie by surprise. “What the fuck do we do, Charlie?” “Give us those names, Sid,” said Charlie. “Anybody else who could move high-quality rocks. With any luck, we’ll be done with the whole bloody affair before they even get on to our scent.”